


Poisoned Honey

by eliddell



Category: RG Veda (Manga)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Really just an excuse for a rambling first-person sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taishakuten isn't sure that this is what he wanted after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poisoned Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Random repost of an old 'fic from May 2002 (which means that this dates from before I'd actually read most of the RG Veda manga, so it may not be fully canon-compliant).
> 
> (Insert $STD_DISCLAIMER here.)

You stir as I run my hand through the fall of black silk that conceals the pillow, and I am certain that you will wake soon. What I am wondering is whether I will wake as well. I can scarcely believe that last night was real, that we have finally come to this point . . . 

How can I love you, how can I be with you, and still feel so hollow inside? 

Your breathing quickens, and I lean forward to wake you with a gentle kiss. Your eyes slide open, then close again as you see who is touching you, even as you part your lips compliantly to admit my tongue. It was exactly like that last night, too—even as you rose above me, your eyes were closed. Even as I admitted you into my body, into that place where no one had ever touched me before because I was saving it for you, your eyes were closed, and I knew that you were not seeing me, that you did not want to see me. That you could not bear to admit that you were doing such a thing. 

Have I surrendered myself to this soul-destroying bargain in return for a reward that is less than illusion? 

I throw back the sheets and straddle your thighs, then place my hands to either side of your shoulders to support me as I lean forward to warm your eyelids with my breath. Come on, damn you, _look_ at me. Almost frantic, I nudge those closed lids with my tongue, trying to force the lashes to part, to show me a sliver of liquid black pupil and golden iris, but your eyes remain obstinately shut as your lips move, shaping a silent word. _Yamete?_ Stop? Is that what you said? Or was it her name, the name of the woman you chose to bed in order to stave off a prophecy, the woman you admitted does not love you? 

Is that what you saw when you took me last night? Her face, instead of the face of the one who _does_ love you? 

Instead of continuing to worry at your eyes, I join our mouths again, but the exquisite sweetness of that action is tainted by the way you lie so passively underneath me. This is not you; I could never have imagined you so. This is not the man I fell in love with, the proud warrior-king. What lies beneath me is a . . . a doll, a worthless damned _doll_ that leans back into the pillows and pretends that it is elsewhere. 

Angry, frustrated, hurt, I draw back my hand and slap you. Your head rocks with the blow, but still you say nothing, and it is my eyes that fill with tears. How . . . how could I . . . does it take so little to turn me into a monster, to poison my hopes? I wanted to comfort you, to cherish you, to lessen your burden . . . 

Still weeping, I kiss the edges of the red mark left behind by my palm, trying to soothe away the pain without quite knowing how. The salt water must be stinging you, but I cannot help it, I cannot stop . . . and I find myself holding my breath as a hand reaches up to weave itself into my hair, right there at the temple. 

_Gomen nasai_ , you whisper. _I am sorry._ And finally, finally, your eyes open and you look at me, but I still see nothing in them but pity and pain. No love, no desire. 

I am such a fool. My bargain with you was only for your body, and I have that, don't I? Is it selfish of me to want you to be pleasured by my touch, instead of enduring it? 

I wanted you to come to me because of love, not because of this unholy covenant that binds us together now like barbed wire cutting into the skin, turning what should be pleasure into pain. 

Is it too late already to change things between us? 

This time, as my mouth covers yours, you do more than just part your lips, and your tongue moves against mine, just a little. You sigh softly as I nibble my way along your jaw and down your throat. Perhaps, if I pleasure you enough, we will both be able to forget, for a little while, what has brought us here. 

You close your eyes again as my caresses shift lower, as I begin to stroke that which lies, flaccid, between your thighs, seeking a reaction which you seem to have no desire to give me—not me. This time I let you have your fantasy of _that woman_ for a little while before arising from the bed, leaving you in order to seek the bottle of scented oil which you recorked then flung aside so cavalierly last night, leaving it to tumble across the thick pile of the carpet as you pushed me back into the mattress. You are watching me; do you understand what I am doing, what I intend to do? Not, I think, until I return to the bed and try to push your legs apart so that I may gain access to what I seek. You pull away from me then, drawing your knees up against your chest, trying to protect yourself. And because I have no wish to harm you, I lay the oil aside and kneel behind you, taking you into my arms, nuzzling your hair. 

At last, at last you begin to relax against me. I kiss your ear, your jaw, the corner of your eye, until you turn to look at me, and there is something almost . . . questioning . . . in your expression as our mouths meet one more time. 

Are you beginning to understand what I have been trying to tell you all this time? _I didn't want you out of selfishness; I wanted to help you, to heal you, to love you._

I was willing to abandon my honour for your sake. Will you ever truly know what this obscene pact of ours has cost me, is costing me with every breath I breathe? 

I tug gently at your hips, pulling you further back into my lap so that the evidence of my desire presses against you, and you shudder once and then surrender, letting your head fall back against my chest, leaning into the arm I wrap around your shoulders as I turn you so that I can bend my face to your nipples, tonguing first one, then the other, into little, stiff peaks. I stroke the muscles of your abdomen with my free hand, never moving below your navel, until you groan softly, almost in spite of yourself, and try to grind your groin against me. 

I let you gently down onto your back and reach for the oil again. Your expression is slightly dazed, and you fail to react to what I am doing until I have already positioned myself between your spread legs, one slicked hand probing for an opening still more than half-concealed. You make a soft sound of protest, but my hand has already found its goal and the tip of my forefinger is already stroking the edges of it. 

I know that you would prefer our roles to be reversed, my love, but if I allow that, you will just pretend that I am that woman again. I would not have attracted your attention if I were such a poor strategist as that. 

The hopeless moan that you breathe as my finger enters your body tears at my heart, and I can feel my eyes filling with tears again. Your muscles relax as you try to return yourself to that doll-like state, to pretend that this is not happening. I would almost prefer it if you blasted me through the wall of this room with the force of your magic, but the terms of our compact forbid it. I force myself to continue with what I am doing, to stroke you from the inside out until your breath catches again and your hips move despite everything you can do to keep them still, and continue to worry at that special, secret place until I can tell that your body is tensing again, aching with need. 

Now I am trying to stretch you in earnest—two fingers, three, your hips rising to meet my hand, desperation beginning to add force to your movements. I hope you will not come to hate me for making you feel these things. 

At last I am certain of your readiness, and, needy now, you do not protest as I pull you towards me and begin a slow, careful penetration. You were not nearly so careful with me, last night, but it did not matter to me even though I was just as much a virgin in this as you were until a moment ago—I would not have cared even if you had torn me, I wanted you so badly. You do not share that eagerness, and so it is necessary that I seduce you, that I try to prevent the ache that I discovered comes of being stretched too abruptly, the burning sensation of insufficient lubrication. Even that slight pain would be too much for you, I think. 

This act, unlike the other, is familiar to me, from the many times I have slaked my physical needs in another's loins while painting your face across the insides of my eyelids and pretending that my heart did not ache for you. It feels precisely the same, and yet different, oh how different, because it is you and not some nameless, faceless minion trying to curry my favour by offering himself so . . . You are flushed now, panting, and I lower one hand to your swollen phallus and reach out the other to stroke your face, feeling you press your cheek against my palm, needing that comfort more than physical relief. 

You hiss as though in pain as I feel the shaft clutched in my other hand throb and spill sticky whiteness all over your loins and my stomach and my hand. Your muscles clench themselves tight, and I can feel ecstasy spreading its wings inside me, wafting me upwards into white light . . . 

When I descend again, I find you still lying there, eyes dull, expression exhausted and incurious, and I lay myself down beside you, taking you into my arms again, kissing you on hair and face and throat, murmuring protestations of my love . . . trying to draw you out again, to infuse the doll-you with a soul. And at last, after what seems like forever, your lips move, shaping a word. 

A name. 

My name. 

_Taishakuten._

It is enough.


End file.
